Shoplifting at Shaw’s

The cops switched on the sirens as they passed through the red light.  They pulled over in a space outside the 7/11.  The cop in the passenger seat got out and went into the store.  He came back out with a four-pack of Red Bull.  He sat back down in his seat and gave one to the other cop.  He knocked on the glass divider.

“Hey, kid.  Do you want a Red Bull?” he asked me.

I nodded real hungrily.

He said: “Well, too bad.  You should have paid for them like a civilized man.  Now, we’re taking you to jail!”

The other cop laughed.

***

We were a little tipsy, but not too bad, when we got to the Shaw’s by the Fenway station.  Samantha said she’d wait outside.  I was going to shoplift a four-pack of Red Bull and that was it.  No problem.  But she’d asked me if I’d get her a jar of pickles, and I said okay I would.

Inside the store I slipped a four-pack of Red Bull into my backpack after I had laid it down at my feet and pretended to tie my shoes.  Then I went to look for the pickles.  They were harder to find than I expected.  I came across some Slim Jims and I stole two of those, too.  Then I found the jar of pickles and I slipped it into my bag.

As I was leaving the store, the door would not open.  I looked up and saw that I was trying to leave through the entrance door.  I went around the rail that divided the two doors and, as I went to the other door, some fat older man stepped in front of me.  He was wearing black slacks and a white button-down shirt, with a nametag on his left lapel that read JIM.

He would not move.  He said: “Come with me!”

I said: “Why?”

“We need to talk in my office,” he said sternly.

I followed him through the store holding tight to my backpack.

***

In the cruiser, the cops laughed the entire way to the police station.  Once we got there, a cop came around the car and let me out.  The other one produced a set of keys and released the cuffs.

He said: “You’re free to go.”

“Where am I?” I said.  “How am I supposed to get home?”

Without a word they continued to laugh as they left me in the dark, barren parking lot outside the police station.

***

Jim led me to his office in the back of the store.  There was a desk and a monitor that quickly switched to different panning angles of the store.  There was a cushioned desk chair on wheels behind the desk.  There was a metal folding chair in the corner.

Gesturing to the metal folding chair, he said: “Have a seat.”

I sat.

He leaned against the desk and crossed his arms and said: “Are you going to tell me what you took?”

I said nothing.

“I know you took a four-pack of Red Bulls, two Slim Jims, and”—he sighed—“a jar of pickles.”

I said nothing.

He said: “Are you going to give them back?”

I said nothing.

He took my bag and tore it open.  He didn’t even bother to unzip it.  Just ripped it right open.  He turned it upside down and all the items fell out, including the three PBRs which were left over from earlier in the night.

He asked me for some ID.

I said nothing.  It wasn’t often that I got caught stealing, so I was flabbergasted that they had been watching me ever since I entered the store.

I stared at the man.

He returned my stare.

I nodded.  I reached for my wallet in my back pocket and took out my driver’s license and passed it to him.

“Says here you’re only 18 years old?”

I nodded.

He shouted: “Drew!”

Another, taller, skinnier security guard came into the room.  This one was black.  He said: “Yeah?”

Jim told him to call the police.

“Why?” said Drew.  “It’s just a few items.  Why don’t you just ban him from the store and let him go?”

“He has THREE BEERS in his bag,” said Jim, the head of security.

“So?”

“He is ONLY 18 years old.”

“So he’s old enough to serve this country but he’s not old enough to have a few beers?”

“NOW!!!” Jim demanded.

Drew left the room then.

Jim passed me his card and said: “If you have any questions about what went on here, you can call this number.”

***

I stood in the dark, empty parking lot outside the police station, looked around me for landmarks, and started walking.